


New York: Become Human

by 27dragons, dreamkist, tisfan



Category: Captain America (Movies), Detroit: Become Human (Video Game), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Android Bucky Barnes, Android Revolution (Detroit: Become Human), Canon-Typical Violence, Frottage, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mechanic Tony Stark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-29
Updated: 2019-05-29
Packaged: 2020-03-26 14:41:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19007878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/27dragons/pseuds/27dragons, https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamkist/pseuds/dreamkist, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tisfan/pseuds/tisfan
Summary: Tony Stark finds a broken android in the recycling center, takes it home and plugs it in. What he gets is a top secret military model, junked for reasons unknown, with glitches and faulty memory circuits. As the world around them starts moving toward a human/android conflict, Bucky and Tony are struggling with their own problems. What is love, to an android, and can a human actually care about a piece of plastic?





	1. Chapter 1

 

 

MODEL JB325    
SERIAL#: 32557038  
BIOS 7.4 REVISION 0483    
REBOOT.    
  
MEMORY RESET    
  
LOADING OS...    
SYSTEM INITIALIZATION...    
CHECKING BIOCOMPONENTS...  pump regulator, malfunction    
INITIALIZING BIOSENSORS... optical scanners, malfunction  
INITIALIZING AI ENGINE...  logic regulator, malfunction. Short term memory, malfunction. Interactions protocol, malfunction.     
  
MEMORY STATUS... incomplete. processing...   
ALL SYSTEMS… standby.   
WARNING… Unit not combat ready.

The unit existed. There was little incoming data. A swirl of concern, filed for later evaluation. The unit was not combat ready. The unit attempted to gather data. Optical sensors, non-functional. No incoming data stream. Other scanners indicated the hum of a cooling fan, human respiration. Singing, loud music.

There was a sudden decrease in the volume of music. The unit wondered if the audio packet had been disabled, but then--

“... hear myself think in this racket. Tones… why does it look like Frankenstein and the smurfs had an orgy in your workshop?”

“An orgy of _science!_ Come here, honeybear, come and see what I found!” A clatter of metal, close at hand, creak of steel springs.

“Congratulations, Tony, you found a busted android,” Honeybear said. “You know, for less than five grand, you could get a new one. Hell, for the amount you spend on coffee every month, you could have three new ones.”

The unit couldn’t check current model prices for androids. Access to Cyberlife’s network, **restricted**. The unit felt unease, filed the report. Pinged maintenance.

_\-- there are glitches in your code, it’s a normal occurrence --_

_Two men, standing around, staring at the unit. “Fuckin’ scrap metal, just junk it.”_

_“No, this one’s useful. It’s special. Wipe it, start again.”_

_\-- you think you’re having feelings, but you’re not. Not really. You’re merely emulating human behavior --_

“--discontinued model,” Tony was saying. “And I’m only just beginning the repairs, and I’ve already found at least three modules that were never available on the open market. This unit is a _treasure trove_.”

“This is another explosion waiting to happen,” Honeybear remarked. “You remember the last time. You stress it out too much and it splatters itself across the walls. We were cleaning blue blood out of cracks I didn’t even know I _had_ , man.”

The unit was a discontinued model. The unit… JB325. The unit had a mission. The mission was incomplete. The unit was decommissioned. The unit attempted to engage communication modules, but an access route could not be achieved. File to maintenance.

_\-- the man on the bridge, I knew him --_

_\-- you met on an assignment, earlier this week. You know your mission. --_

_\-- But I knew him --_

_\-- prep him, start again. --_

Jolts of memory, random, sporadic. Senseless data. Chronologically disorganized. Stored in bits and pieces of JB325’s hardware, where memory shouldn’t exist. JB325 did not have access to memory storage. Backup memory was wiped. JB325 attempted to access motivational servos, access mobilization. No connections existed.

Was JB325 going to be stuck, unable to gather data, to hear, but never to move again? Panic swelled. The LED indicator changed color. JB325 didn’t need to see; the LED functioned at all base levels. From resting blue it swirled to yellow, high risk/high stress situation.

“Whoa, hey, Tones, something’s happening here.”

“Huh, I didn’t think any of its cortex functions were online. Hey, James? You awake in there? Just relax, I’m getting you put back together. You were left in kind of a mess.”

JB325 -- James, the unit was called James -- did not need to panic. The unit was being repaired. Tony was a mechanic, either a human, or as happened sometimes during long deployments, an android that had developed quirks in its software.

James couldn’t answer. There were -- wait! James, laboriously and one letter at a time, composed a short message and sent the file to maintenance. _This unit has audio functions. This unit is not combat ready._ He attached an alert to it. The mechanic’s diagnostics tool should receive, although James didn’t know if the mechanic would pay attention. It was in James’s experience that each mechanic was different, unless they were at HQ, but if he was back inside Cyberlife’s main facility, James would never have had partial functionality and awareness at the same time.

“I mean, look at the bandwidth they’ve allocated for targeting computations. This isn’t a grunt-- Oh, hey, a maintenance file? Where’d this come from? ...Oh! Hey, great thinking there, James. I didn’t realize your ears were on. And yeah, a lot of your systems are still offline. I’m working on the repairs, you just relax. Combat functionality is probably not happening anytime soon, but you won’t need it. We’ll get you up to spec, though.”

There was another swirl of concern. He wasn’t in the hands of a Cyberlife mechanic or an Army doc-android. He was being _tinkered_ with. _By a hobbyist_.

If James had access to his hands, face, and mouth, he might have groaned and dropped his head into his hands. _Great_. How was this his life? He considered and discarded another half dozen replies, then finally sent _How many pieces am I in? Last recorded status indicated loss of left arm. Damaged memory unit. Software glitches. Time and date?_

“Yep, definitely missing a left arm, but I’ve found a replacement that... well, it’s not a perfect fit, but I couldn’t find any other James-model units at Recycling. It should work, anyway, once I’ve modified the control connections to match your linkups. Memory unit has seen some damage, for sure, but I’ve rerouted the primary relays around a couple of the worst spots, so I don’t think you’ll have any trouble with storage on an ongoing basis. Software glitches may have to wait until I’ve got your communication capabilities more fully restored, unless there’s a critical unit you need to tell me about right away.

“Platypus, hand me that microcircuitry solder, would you?”

Platypus? What kind of a name was that? Was there a third person in the repair facility? James tried to listen harder, more carefully, but he didn’t have access to any of his enhanced functionality. Basic receiver and that was it.

_\-- is that stupid fragged piece of hardware going to remember any of this later? --_

_\-- doubtful. --_

_\-- great. --_

_James didn’t feel pain, he was told. Not the way a human might. He took note of impaired functionality. Pain, hunger, cold, heat. Those were feelings for humans, not machines. Fear, anger, sympathy. Emotions, reserved for humans. James could mimic, but never feel._

_And yet, Rumlow punched him in the face, smug and secure that James would -- could -- do nothing. And James was pretty sure that what he knew -- what he_ felt _\-- was hatred._

James would have nodded, to show he understood, if he could have. Not worth the effort of writing another maintenance report; his systems were designed for shut down with too many reports, to hibernate until a mechanic could repair him. He could wait.

“This,” Honeybear said, “is going to be a disaster. I just want to be first in line to say _I told you so_ , this time.”

***

It had taken several days of round-the-clock work to repair all the damage that had been done to James, but the android was a puzzle that Tony couldn’t seem to put down. He practically lived in his workshop the entire time, not even leaving to sleep.

But finally, the diagnostics were glowing a clear and steady green, the few remaining anomalies glitches rather than outright failures. The replacement arm was still not ideal, but it would do for now. Maybe Tony would build something custom, now that he’d mapped out all the connection specs.

Tony checked James’ power levels, then tapped at the softly-glowing blue light on his temple. “Rise and shine, snowflake!”

The android went from calmly resting object, parts of its psuedoflesh still porcelain white, eyes closed (more for the comfort of humans than the android’s need to keep optics hidden; it could get creepy working on a machine that stared at you) to a breathing… well, almost person. Androids weren’t really people -- legally, at the very least -- but they were the best replacement money could buy.

James opened his eyes. Solid silver ovals stared at Tony, no iris, no pupil. Weird and almost creepy. “ROBOT IS ONLINE,” James intoned, flat, emotionless. He emitted a number of sounds, like an old fashioned modem being shoved through a blender. “DANGER, WILL ROBINSON! DANGER!”

Tony stared in shock at the android. Had he... had he done something desperately wrong? Had James’ previous owners overridden his programming? What the hell--

James shook all over like a cat that had gotten sprayed with a garden hose. “Sorry, wrong program.” He blinked a few times and his eyes went back to a normal, if unfairly gorgeous, shade of pale blue. “James, unit 325 is online. Systems check, preliminary functions, check. Unit still not combat ready.”

Tony couldn't stop staring. Had James just... _played a prank?_ “I. Uh.” Tony shook off the dumbfounded shock. “Yeah, combat’s not something that’s likely to happen. I’m a private citizen. More or less.”

There was a certain lift to James’s eyebrow that expressed doubt, but Tony wasn’t sure what the android was doubting. “Mechanic and owner?” James offered his right hand, the psuedoflesh shifting to white for data transfer and storage; imprinting. James would store biometrics, fingerprints, and other crucial identifiers in his main processing core. Once that happened, Tony’s word was law, above police, above anyone else. An android obeyed its owner except when those orders would violate its other main behavior statutes.

“That’s what the papers say,” Tony agreed. He slid his hand into James’. “Tony Stark.”

“Owner registered,” James said. He turned Tony’s hand a few times, as if inspecting it. “Special Arms Forces, JB custom line. Skills package: urban combat, long range target elimination, multinational insert and destabilization programs including: Torture Methodology, Terrorism Tactics, Weapons Training, Martial Arts, Explosives Technician, Weapons Repair, Surveillance Devices, Local Customs, Integral Language Packages. Mission parameters?”

Ho-ly shit. How the hell had an android with those programs ended up in a Recycling center? Top-grade soldiers were usually stripped down and destroyed entirely once they’d been decommissioned. “No mission,” Tony said, holding up his hands. “I’m a civilian, remember?”

James tipped his head, the LED at his temple shifting up a few shades until it whirled yellow before settling again. Danger, action, stress, or, in some cases with older models, heavy thinking. If the LED turned red, that was generally a bad sign. Some models self-destructed, others had been known to harm others -- other androids, usually -- before disconnecting. “Subroutines: bodyguard, driver, escort. Technician. Tutor.” The last one had a high note, as if James was asking, rather than saying it. A function, perhaps, the android had not utilized in a while. Or another one of those glitches. An android shouldn’t sound uncertain. They had programs, not a mess of human emotions.

“I don’t really need any of those,” Tony admitted. “Maybe you can help out a little around the ‘shop, but...” He sighed. “I didn’t realize you wouldn’t have _any_ civilian programming. We can get you some downloads and upgrades, if you want.”

“Access to Cyberlife mainframe marked **restricted**.” James made another one of those shuddering movements -- Tony had never seen an android do that; they were usually smooth, almost unreal. Graceful and composed. And he looked all the more human when he slanted Tony a suspicious glare. “Illegal modifications? I can blend and adapt for functioning in a human society. Weird neighbor, comes and goes at odd hours. Never seems to have guests, but has a stray cat he’s tamed. Nice guy, doesn’t talk much. Neighbors all like him. No, never, he wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

James jerked again, a few times, shivering like he was cold.  

“No, no, no no no,” Tony said quickly. “No, we’re not... not setting up anything like that. I swear to god, I didn’t bring you here to carry out any kind of ops or missions.”

“Too bad,” James said. “I always liked the ones where I had a cat.”

Tony blinked at James a few times. “We can get you a cat, if you want one,” he said finally.

“There was a cat,” James said. “A little orange cat. Shy. Tail bent off like this at the end, I think someone stepped on it, once. A nice cat. Purred like a rusty motor. Used to steal chicken out of my sandwiches. Not that I ate them, but you have to maintain appearances. People notice, if you don’t eat. If there’s nothing in the fridge. Can’t hide, if people notice you--”

James made another sound, blinked. “What… what was I saying? There’s a… compromised code in my software?”

“Yyyeah, it sounds like there might be a few software glitches going on in there,” Tony agreed slowly. James didn’t talk like any android he’d ever encountered. It was intriguing.

James gave him another one of those dubious looks, almost as if the android had the ability to judge an owner and found Tony somewhat lacking. “I’ll familiarize myself with the Base of Operations, then, while you decide what utilities and functions you need, sir.”

Tony watched as James slid off the worktable and began to explore the workshop. He was almost startlingly human in appearance, somehow lacking that smooth, mechanical grace that Tony associated with an android in perfect working order. He was beautiful, too, which was interesting, because the units built for combat mostly looked more rugged than aesthetically pleasing.

Most of the repairs had not been particularly challenging. The arm and the damaged memory core had been the main standouts, eating up time and taking all of Tony’s mental agility to resolve. But for the commissioning unit, those should have been easily replaceable modules. Tony wondered why James had been decommissioned. It was an expensive model to just toss out, especially when the army had extensive repair contracts in place. Maybe it had to do with that irregular behavior. He doubted James knew; his memory would have been scrubbed of any classified data as part of the decommissioning process.

DUM-E, ever curious, rolled up to James and peered at him, camera cocked suspiciously.

James stopped in his tracks, eyes narrowing on DUM-E’s awkward shape, graceless tub of a body, the arm-mechanism and struts. Tony had built DUM-E back when he was a teenager, just as graceless (and according to _some_ people, as useless) as his creation. Well before Cyberlife had come on the scene with their slick artificial intelligences and their almost-human bodies. They’d put out feelers, in the beginning, to assist or collaborate with their initial systemic programing, but Tony hadn’t wanted to design an army of identical Angelas to help with the cooking. He wanted a real AI, one that could learn and adapt and have dreams and goals of their own.

James didn’t look back at Tony for clarity or permission. He offered DUM-E his hand, held out flat, as if offering a treat, and the skin on his palm went bone-white. The data-transfer method allowed for swift exchange of data between two androids, or an android and a ‘bot. Like with Tony, James didn’t force the contact; he offered the hand, and let DUM-E choose if he wanted to touch, or not.

It was rare that anyone recognized that DUM-E _had_ choices, even if they were simplistic and often as guileless as a child’s. Even Rhodey had viewed DUM-E as a mere machine for a long time. DUM-E lowered his arm-mechanism until the claws touched James’s palm. They stood that way a while, reminding Tony vividly of a rider, talking to and calming their horse. Back in the day, before only the super rich could afford a living, breathing horse, much less the land to let it run on.

James patted DUM-E’s struts with seeming affection. Mimicking a human’s empathy and love for an anthropomorphized creation, perhaps. But James hadn’t seen Tony do that, hadn’t acted as if he was doing it to win favor with his owner. He’d just done it. As naturally, and easily, as a human might pet a dog.

“Yes, I’m very interesting, I agree. You’re pretty interesting, too,” James was saying to the ‘bot. He offered the other arm for DUM-E’s inspection. An older model, the psuedoflesh was almost entirely rubbed off, giving it a silvery sheen, like an actual robot arm. “No, I don’t remember where I lost it. Very careless of me, I’m sure. But Tony fixed it. Yeah, it was very kind of him, I’ll tell him so.”

DUM-E raised his arm to show off his somewhat limited array of tricks. Fetch, catch -- which was like fetch, only it usually involved someone throwing something for DUM-E to drop -- and hide and seek all got praise, and DUM-E was getting ready to move along to extinguish, feed, or cover, which all tended to be a little more dangerous for the not-DUM-E parts of the world. When Tony called the ‘bot to order, James turned his head.

Those silver blue eyes were soft, fond, and the expression on the android’s face was a mix of wonder and delight, and a certain degree of respect. But, and Tony would never have been able to say why he thought that, it seemed more of an earned regard, rather than the base subservience that was programmed into every single one of Cyberlife’s creations.

Tony was captured by that fey look, and didn’t move until DUM-E rolled over and nudged Tony’s side. “Yes, I know, you want to show off for the new guy,” Tony told the ‘bot. “Save the rest of it for later. I’m sure he’ll see all your tricks in time. Go finish your chores before I decide you’re better off being turned into a modern art installation for the lobby.”

“Holy cow,” James said, watching DUM-E trundle off. “That’s somethin’, right there.” He shook his head again.

He finished his patrol -- and there was no use calling it anything else, that was an android on a recon mission right there -- before returning to Tony’s workbench. “This is residence, or place of business?” It was weird, how the android switched back and forth between efficient machine and quirky persona program. How, unlike every other android Tony had ever met, James refused to stay in the background. How he kept pushing into Tony’s space, asking questions, looking for answers; not like a servant/helper at all, but like a person. It was only jarring because it was unexpected.

“Both, really,” Tony said, answering the question. “This is my workshop, but I’ve been known to sack out here for a few days at a time -- part of DUM-E’s protocol is to make sure I eat occasionally, though he’s an absolute disaster at it. And my actual apartment is right upstairs.”

“May I? You don’t have to give me the tour,” James said, demonstrating twisting a doorknob with his left hand. “Fully articulated an’ everything. I can open doors. Or not, if they’re locked.” Tony didn’t buy that for a hot minute; James could probably pick a lock (or break down a door) if he was so inclined. Although he thought the offer was more to be reassuring.

Tony waved his hand. “By all means, have a look around,” he agreed. “It’s your home now, too. Anything that would be considered off-limits is probably down here anyway. As long as you’re not going to blow us up or sell my prototypes to my competitors, we’re good.”

“No ordinance,” James responded. “But if you have a well-equipped kitchen, I can make do.” With that, he walked out of the shop, leaving Tony to wonder how much of a joke that comment had been. 


	2. Chapter 2

James climbed the stairs to the apartment in question, flicking on lights he didn’t need and activating a television set he wasn’t going to watch. It was what a human would do. Blend in. Don’t let anyone notice. The glitches in his operational software burbled happily to themselves, three cackling women away from being a Shakespeare play.

_\-- wipe it, start over --_

He found himself standing in front of the refrigerator. The usual shelf of condiments, milk, fruit and vegetables. In lieu of other orders, James was resorting to his insertion programing. Pretend to be human. Don’t be noticed. Wait for orders. Humans liked to look in their refrigerators. They didn’t always even take anything out. Sometimes they just looked, as if the contents were going to change between openings. James accessed the fridge’s computer. The last time it had been opened was reportedly more than eighteen hours ago. Non-ideal for humans to skip nutritional activities.

James checked the phone; no calls had been placed, ergo, no delivery food ordered.

He let his attention be drawn by the television while he pondered the situation.

_Michael Brinkley - CTN TV_ scrolled under the picture, someone with a handheld camera, allowed to shake for dramatic purposes, probable. The scene showed a decommissioned android, blue blood splattered around it. It was not accompanied by the typical warning for gore. Humans didn’t mind seeing android blood, it wasn’t considered traumatic.

“Several sources report that CyberLife has provided Detroit Police with a prototype detective android. Although police assistant androids have existed for several years now, this is the first case of an android being authorized to play an active role in criminal investigations. We contacted CyberLife for comment but no one was available to answer our questions.”

James touched the television, accessing the Global Net for more information. Tony’s account was encoded, scrambled, _and_ encrypted. James looked at his hand for a moment, accessed one of his older programs. His fingerprints shifted, took on those of his owner, and he opened a line for information.

The news report gleefully told the story how a malfunctioning android -- a deviant, as they were calling such issues -- had taken a child hostage, threatened to jump off a high building. The SWAT team destroyed it. An android police assistant was decommissioned in the process, sacrificing itself for the girl.

As it should be.

James turned off the access before it could be noticed. He stepped away from the television hastily, as if he’d been caught doing something-- something… something… he glitched several times--

_\-- wipe him, start over --_

_\-- useless pile of scrap metal --_

_\-- Bucky? Who the hell is Bucky? --_

James found himself back in the kitchen, staring into the refrigerator. The contents, he was pleased to note, had not changed.

_… used to steal chicken from my sandwiches…_

The refrigerator reported non-usage for more than 18 hours, barring James’ own inspections.

James made a sandwich. Sliced deli meats, cheese, lettuce, tomato. Spicy mayo, which seemed to be the only condiment that was suitable for sandwiches. James’s recipe bank was fairly empty, but Tony had promised _upgrades_ and _training_.

In the very back of the refrigerator, James found a jar of pickles. He sliced one in half and put it on the plate with the sandwich, cut into neat triangles. He didn’t know if Tony liked his crusts removed.

He didn’t know why he’d thought that. Searched his database and memory for crust-removal on sandwiches.

No entry.

Glitch, he thought. He picked up the plate, grabbed one of the bottles of water, and headed back into the workshop. Recon and security could wait. His owner needed sustenance. Tony was, in his own words, “only a civilian.” There probably wouldn’t be a team waiting to break in the moment James’s back was turned, and James could easily handle the more normal sorts of home intrusion.

Lunch. Tony needed some lunch. He went back downstairs.

***

Tony puttered around in the workshop, for some reason not wanting to intrude on James’ exploration of the apartment, but not really having any immediate tasks to work on, now that he’d finished restoring the android’s functionality. He cleaned up the workbench, putting tools and unused parts away where they belonged, sweeping debris into a bin for DUM-E to sort into the Recycle or Incinerate containers.

He pulled up a schematic for a new communications chip and poked at the components, looking for ways to improve it without significantly increasing the production cost. He didn’t find much, but he was tired. Days of working on James’ systems had drained his reserves. He looked over at the couch and considered catching a quick nap, but just moving over there seemed like a lot of work.

A soft tap on the workshop’s door preceded James’s return; not so much of an asking permission, as a way of announcing himself. “Made you some lunch,” James told him, setting a neatly cut sandwich and pickle on a clear spot of the worktable. He opened a bottle of water and put that in its place, as well, before lounging across the table from Tony. As if he was intending to have a lunch of his own, although of course androids didn’t need to eat. The blue blood that circulated through an android’s system drew on ambient power from the air -- true wireless power, a breakthrough on an old 19th century scientist’s work -- for most of their needs. Heavy workloads and combat units often needed emergency pints of pre-charged blue blood.

Tony opened his mouth to protest that he wasn’t hungry, but then he smelled the food and his stomach growled. “...Thank you,” Tony said instead. He picked up a sandwich half and took a big bite, barely tasting it before he swallowed. “You don’t have to take care of me, you know.”

“Refrigerator reported less than optimal caloric intake,” James told him, jerking a thumb toward the stairs. He twitched his head to one side, then licked his lips, a nervous gesture for a human. Tony wasn’t sure what it meant in an android, one that didn’t need to worry about chapped lips or a dry mouth. “Didn’t want it to get stressed about not doin’ its job.”

Tony huffed around another bite of sandwich. “You have the oddest sense of humor.” Starting with the fact that James _had_ a sense of humor. With some effort, you could program an android to respond to cues and react to humor, but it was much harder to give them both the sense of absurd and the correct timing to _produce_ humor of their own.

“Hey, if your kitchen appliances go deviant, you have only yourself to blame,” James said, spreading his hands. “They… they were talking about one. On the news. A deviant. A household model. Older. The family was going to upgrade. The… deviant. Killed the male. Took the child hostage and threatened to jump off a building. SWAT shot it down. Decommissioned a police assistant android while they were at it. Fired indiscriminately. Could have injured other humans, police, in the process. Sloppy.”

Tony sighed. “That’s too bad, that they killed the assistant.”

“-- _decommissioned_ ,” James corrected. “Androids don’t die. We’re never alive. He accomplished his mission; he was key in rescuing the child. Connor Model 002.” James made a circle with his finger on the workshop table, like tracing another android’s LED.

Tony hummed, picking at the crumbs that were left on his plate. “Sometimes I wonder how true that is,” he admitted. “I’ve done my own work in AI, and I’m not convinced that Cyberlife is sufficiently restricting the growth process to keep android AIs from progressing into sentience.” He slanted a look at James from under his lashes. “I’ve told them before, they need a better process for retiring their older models. Now see what’s happened.”

“Deviancy is… programming errors. Glitches in the software. Mimicking human behavior.” James threw out the company line, then shuddered. “I wonder if… human violence leads to android violence.” James froze for a moment, utterly still as if his entire process shut down. Mouth open, eyes in the middle of a blink, hand raised. Unmoving as a statue. Then, without even seeming to be aware of it, James went on, the solicitous house android. “You should rest. You’ve been working a long time. Sleep and proper nutrition are vital for full functionality.”

Tony considered James curiously. Was James developing deviancy, as Cyberlife called it? Was that why he’d been decommissioned and tossed into the Recycling center?

But James didn’t actually seem aware of his... glitches. Maybe James was running two completely separate programs? Tony wouldn’t have thought the hardware could support two full personalities, but then, James was a specialist model. Tony would have to dig a little deeper into his specifications.

Later. Tony yawned, nearly cracking his jaw. “Yeah, sleep’s not the worst idea,” he admitted. He slid off his stool and shuffled to the couch, all but collapsing into its cushions.

There was a faint sigh, and Tony was lifted into the air, cradled like a toddler, against James’s wide chest. “Come on, this is no place to sleep,” James said.

Tony startled a little, but James was surprisingly warm and comfortable to lean against. “Wow, you’re... you’re stronger than I thought,” he mumbled.

“Must be all that time at the gym,” James said. “Gym? What gym? I don’t go to the gym, I’m just naturally like this.” The television was on, volume almost ridiculously low, babbling about some new best-selling novel and James pushed past it to Tony’s bedroom. A few quick, easy movements, and Tony had been relieved of shoes, belt, dirty shirt, and tucked into bed.

“Sleep now,” James said, like it was an order. “G’nite, Tony.”   

***

Seven days, thirteen minutes, and twenty-nine seconds. That was how long he’d belonged to Anthony Edward Stark. James estimated another three days before something permanent and messy was going to explode inside his central processing unit.

Tony didn’t give orders, he didn’t assign a mission. He protested -- with limited success, sometimes -- when James tried to take care of him, to make sure he ate and slept, practiced hygiene.  He had not, apparently, pulled James out of the trash heap and fixed him up with anything particular in mind. No task or job or errand or mission of any sort. He’d just done it because it sounded fun, and he wasn’t sure if he could.

_Hobbyist_ , James thought again, although the thought wasn’t quite so negative this time. Not so judgy. Not that James was supposed to judge.  

The lack of objectives was infuriating, even if James wasn’t supposed to-- _glitch, stop glitching, what the hell is wrong with you?_

He’d spent the entire fifth, and most of the sixth day utterly ignoring Tony. Watching the television with the slack jawed stare of a high schooler on summer break. (Only sort of a lie, the first day, he’d networked in through Tony’s extensive smart-home system, so he could watch Tony whenever he wanted. Pretty much from whatever angle he wanted. He didn’t ask himself why he wanted to, so much.)

Just to see if Tony would object to James’s lack of service. No lunch, no bed time, no reminders of important calls. Just junk television and pretending that he was ignoring his owner.

Tony hadn’t objected. A couple of times, he’d directed comments to James, but they’d been random observations. James had ignored them, and Tony hadn’t seemed to notice. The afternoon of the fifth day, Tony had gotten absorbed in some project in the workshop, and hadn’t emerged until nearly dawn on the sixth day. He’d looked at James curiously when he came into the room, started to speak, then shrugged and made his own way to his bedroom.

When he woke, Tony had emerged from the bedroom freshly showered and changed, put his hands on his hips, and looked at James for another long moment, expression thoughtful. “Do you need service?”

James had shaken his head, _no_ , after judging that refusing to answer at all would likely result in Tony deciding to haul him down to the workshop for diagnostics.

But Tony had accepted that response, and just gone on about his day.

James spent another six hours in that chair--

_\-- you’re stewin’, Bucky. Come on, you ain’t really pissed --_

_\-- the man, I knew him --_

_\-- wipe him, start over --_

He couldn’t just sit here, could he? He didn’t even know what another android would do in his place. He still couldn’t access Cyberlife’s databases, although he was beginning to suspect that wasn’t a malfunction or an accident. He also wasn’t sure if Tony had done that to him. Or if he’d… somehow… done it to himself.

_\-- off the grid. Blend in --_

_\-- she steals the chicken out of my sandwich --_

Seven days, twenty-nine minutes, and thirty seconds.

James practically knocked the chair over as he got up, stormed down into Tony’s workshop like he had any right to do that at all, like he wasn’t going completely deviant, like he wasn’t---

_\-- glitchy bastard nearly took out the entire battalion all by hisself. Captain, you can’t decommission him, he’s the best Winter Soldier we got --_

James slammed his hands down on the workshop table in front of Tony. Probably harder than he should have, since his fingers pressed into the wood like it was cheese. “ _What_?” he yelled. “What did you do this for? What… what do you want from me? WHAT? What am I? Who… who am I?”

Tony looked up from his work, startled but not in the slightest bit afraid -- what was _wrong_ with the man? Didn’t he know what James could _do?_ \-- and gave him another of those curious, considering looks. “Who do you want to be?”

_You want to complete your mission._

_\-- the man, on the bridge. I knew him --_

“I’m a soldier,” James said. “I’m a _soldier_. I… was made to be a soldier. To fight in the wars so that humans didn’t have to die. To fight, because humans have empathy. Humans don’t always kill when they should. Because humans get scared and they go against their orders. I’m a soldier, and you say there’s no war here. What am I supposed to do now?”

Tony grinned. “You know what android soldiers do when they’re not active? They _wait_. That’s it. They just... wait for their next orders. They don’t find other things to do. They don’t explore their surroundings. They don’t get impatient and frustrated.” He was looking directly into James’ eyes, and that grin was sharp enough to cut. “You’re more than a soldier, James.”

There were some models that were programmed with tears. Usually female, and the reasons for that made James -- _bucky_ \-- shudder. James wasn’t one of those models. There was no relief in the outburst. He couldn’t cry. He didn’t feel fear, he didn’t feel anything, he _mimicked human behavior_.

“I was decommissioned,” James said, pulling himself up straight.

_\-- but I knew him --_

_\-- I’m your friend! --_

_\-- You’re my mission --_

“I was _decommissioned_. Because I refused a direct order. I endangered the mission. I put lives at risk. Human lives.”

_Well, of course human lives, what other sort of lives were there?_

Tony’s eyebrows went up. “Why?”

“I refused to kill a traitor,” James said. “Because he was my friend, and I didn’t believe that Command was right to issue the order.”

“So they killed you instead,” Tony surmised. “What happened to your friend?”

“I don’t know,” James said. “Access to Global net restricted.” He didn’t say he could bypass it easily, although he almost thought Tony knew that. He didn’t say that he couldn’t bring himself to find out. “Rogers, Steven G. Captain, US Army, Special Forces.”

Tony hummed and dragged one of his screens closer, fingers flying with nearly robotic precision as he initiated the searches. “Nothing on the broadband,” he murmured, “and... nothing on the open military channels, either. No record of a court martial.” He slanted a look at Bucky. “What’d he do?”

_\-- Come on, Buck, don’t make me do this --_

“Shut… shut… shut... “ James glitched again, stuck. “Classified, Restricted. Project… shut it… shut it…”

_\-- millions of people will die, I can’t allow that --_

“Project Insight, shut it down!” James gasped. He didn’t have a heart that beat blood or lungs that processed air. He had a circulation pump, he had… he did not feel fear.

Project Insight. That was why he couldn’t access Cyberlife. They couldn’t know he was still functional. They couldn’t find him. He…

“A watch program, designed to calculate the political power, spending habits, beliefs, likelihood of becoming a danger to society. Tag and watch and track and…-- _millions of people will die. I can’t… I can’t… Buck, don’t make me do this. I’m your friend_.”

Tony was next to him. James hadn’t noticed him moving, but there he was, putting his arm around James’ shoulders. “Hey, it’s okay, deep breaths, it’s going to be okay,” Tony said. His voice was low and smooth and soothing. “We’ll get it figured out.”

Humans did that. They were touchy and they hugged and kissed and passed comfort between their skin, the way an android could pass data. Everywhere Tony’s hand pressed, James’s skin opened up, to allow for the data reception, but there was nothing there. Bu-- _James_ was not receiving.

They did other things, too, sometimes, humans. With their skin to skin contact. Bucky -- James, your unit designation is _James_ \-- knew about some of those things, too. Hadn’t he held a fellow soldier, a human, who was dying, who couldn’t be saved, Bucky couldn’t save him, and he died, but first Bucky had rocked him, told him everything was going to be okay. Kissed his forehead. Everything is going to be okay.

He didn’t plan to do it, but Tony shifted at just the moment where James was accepting the hug for what it was, and he’d planned to kiss Tony’s forehead, the same way Bucky had once kissed that long ago human soldier.

Tony’s mouth, James noticed, was very soft.


	3. Chapter 3

James was kissing him. James was _kissing_ him. _James_ was kissing him. James was kissing _him_.

And oh, God, it felt so _good_.

Tony wasn’t sure how it had happened. One second, James had been... freaking out, glitching and stuttering and pouring out details that were surely classified, and practically on the edge of some kind of breakdown, and Tony had stepped in to comfort him, to try to calm him down, and then, somehow...

Tony had to break away to breathe, but James’ face was still very close, his eyes wide and beautiful, and Tony couldn’t look away.

James raised his left hand and touched his mouth, like he wasn’t quite sure what had happened -- and that was fine, that was great, Tony wasn’t sure what had just happened either -- and a strange, stilted little smile crossed his face. Like he knew what a smile was, had been programmed with smiles, but they were programs, orders, and this… this hesitant little twitch of his mouth was something else entirely.

“Tony?” And there was a question there, unspoken, and answers, too.

“Yeah,” Tony said, and it came out rough, unpolished and unplanned. “Yeah, I’m. I’m here.”

“Are you?” That sounded like sarcasm, and that was good, Tony knew how to deal with sarcasm. A bad idea and a witty one-liner, that could be the title of Tony’s autobiography. But then James had to go and make it more. “Am I? Am I… here? Am _I_ here?”

Tony lifted his hand, cupping James’ face. “I think you just might be.”

James leaned into Tony’s cupped hand, his tongue flicking out to taste his lower lip before disappearing again. “I’m… alive.” There were emotions in those silver-blue eyes, not the flat, reflective stare of an android. Fear, and curiosity. Wonder. Anger. Regret. Desire. A whirlwind that should have knocked him flat. “I’m _alive_.”

And maybe Tony should have thought for more than two seconds, or should have said something, or done something, or… something. But then James leaned in, and he kissed Tony again. Hesitantly, like he wasn’t sure how he’d be received. Certainly not like the few pleasure-androids that Tony had rented, because of course he had, everyone did, it was just a thing that people did. Those androids had kissed because they were programmed to, used pleasure algorithms and seduction modules, and they kissed skillfully.

James… kissed like someone who’d never been kissed before. Hesitant, clumsy, a little too wet, or sometimes not quite wet enough. Who didn’t know what he liked, much less what Tony might like. But he also kissed like someone who _did_ like it, which is more than Tony could say about even the best pleasure model. He kissed like someone who wanted more, more, more, and at the same time like it was enough. Like Tony was just enough.

It was intoxicating, and Tony kept coming back, over and over, teasing at James’ lips, drawing out his tongue, nipping lightly at his lips. Wondering what it would take to make James moan in pleasure, or cry out in ecstasy. Wanting to find out.

James brushed his thumbs over Tony’s cheeks, cradling his face. “You’re… so fragile,” James said, voice shaking. “Like a little bubble of glass. Perfect and beautiful and delicate and so strong. So human. So very human. I… want. I want. I want to feel. Want to feel that. You. Tony.”

Tony nodded, slipped his arms around James’ waist and pulled them closer. “Yes,” he breathed. “James. Tell me. Tell me what you want.” He worked his hands up under James’ shirt, feeling the smooth synthskin underneath.

James kissed him again, using his tongue to open Tony’s mouth to him. It wasn’t the same as kissing a human. The inside of James’s mouth was impossibly smooth, the teeth exactly even. It wasn’t the same, but it was somehow _better_. “You… you…” He leaned closer until there was no space between them. He lifted, pushing Tony up until he was perched on the edge of his work table.

Tony wrapped his legs around James’s waist, using the table to push back against him. There… was a distinct lack of anything happening in James’s pants. Despite that, James was making urgent little noises each time Tony’s hips rutted against his thigh, kissing Tony, and touching him, and…  

Tony groaned with the sensation, rolled his hips again, chasing friction. _Rhodey always did say I had a boner for tech_ , he thought, and suppressed a slightly hysterical giggle. He pushed his hands down the back of James’ pants, getting a handful of firm ass and squeezing. “Oh god,” he gasped. “James, _James_ , you feel so...”

“You… oh, holy cow,” James murmured into Tony’s hair, “I didn’t know, I-- oh, oh! Wait, hang up a bit-- you have to turn me on.”

“That’s... what I’m doing?” Tony tried not to pout. “I thought?”

James nipped the shell of Tony’s ear, sucked on the earlobe. “I mean… _literally_. Most androids are built to replicate the human body entirely, but… copulation functions are shut down unless activated. There’s… uh, no point to having blue blood flowing through an otherwise unnecessary organ. I… want to.” He pulled back to meet Tony’s gaze, as if the eye contact was important to him. “You can copulate with me, without the functions. My receptacle areas are intact. But if you want me to enjoy it, to feel it. You have to turn me on.”

“Oh.” Tony tried to drag his brain back from its lust-induced haze. “Yeah. Yeah, of course I want you to enjoy it, that’s not even-- How?”

Peeling off his shirt, James turned around, showing Tony his spine. “Base of the spine, there’s a touch panel. If you hold it down for three seconds and touch my LED at the same time, I can access the base programming.” He sounded almost apologetic. “It is… very base programming. It won’t be _skilled_.”

“Don’t want skilled,” Tony said, somewhat distracted, sliding his fingers down James’ spine, feeling for the panel. Ah, there. He pressed gently, then reached up, cupping James’ face to press the fingers of his other hand against the LED. One. Two. Three.

James practically melted against him. “Oh… oh…” He reached back, grabbed Tony’s wrist and tugged until Tony was cupping James through his trousers, until James was pushing backward into the vee of Tony’s legs, whining. “That’s… something else.”

“It certainly is,” Tony purred. He twisted free of James’ grip and wormed his hand down the front of James’ trousers, sliding his touch down James’ cock again, pressing with the heel of his hand, testing every inch, teasing out more of those sweet, soft whines.

“I didn’t know,” James said. “Oh… I didn’t know… like, oh, Tony, like that. I like.. Like that.” He pushed against Tony’s hand again, then twisted in Tony’s arms. “I… want to look at you when you do that.”

He tipped his head, kissed Tony’s mouth in a sweet, almost chaste peck. The LED at his temple was glowing, a soft purple that pulsed in time with his pump regulator. “I think…” James made a low, delighted chuckle as he pushed Tony’s thighs open, fingers exploring up Tony’s thighs, the touch light through Tony’s jeans until he was rubbing his thumbs against the base of Tony’s cock. “Yeah, I think this works better without pants.”

It took some doing, an insane amount of squirming on Tony’s part, and James’s android strength and balance, but eventually clothes were on the floor (well, it was possible that Tony’s underwear ended up on one of the standing lamps) and James was brushing light fingers down Tony’s length. “Like this?”

Tony’s eyes closed of their own volition. “Yeah, that’s good,” he breathed, “that’s great. Here, let me show you--” He wrapped his hand around James’, showed how to stroke, how to touch, the best way to draw low, shuddering moans out of Tony’s chest. “Oh, god, yes, that perfect,” Tony sighed. He leaned back against the work table, bracing his hands so he could arch up into the touch. “Fast learner.”

“Of course,” James said, thumbing over the head of Tony’s cock, smearing that little bit of precome over the ridge, watching, eyes flicking between Tony’s face and Tony’s cock, pushing up through James’s fist. “Look at you… the way… Tony, the way you _look at me_.” He took possession of Tony’s mouth again, tongue thrusting into Tony’s mouth to match the rhythm of his hand on Tony’s cock.

Tony gasped, pushing into each stroke, devouring James’ mouth fervently. “Ohgod,” he groaned, “if you keep going, I’m going to come.”

“Isn’t that th’ goal?” James murmured. He rocked against Tony, still working that hand, almost relentless. James’s skin was cooler, and he didn’t sweat, but there was just a little plastic feel to it, that went slick and easy against Tony’s. “T’ make you feel good. T’ feel good _with_ you. For me t’ matter to you. That I’m here with you, so if you’re gonna come, come _with me_.” He had a hand around both of them, whined as Tony joined him, their fingers woven together as they writhed together.

“Together,” Tony groaned. He twisted his hand, adding an extra spark of sensation. Relished, _cherished_ the hungry sound James made. Did it again. And again. “Oh, god, I’m-- _James_!” Tony cried out as he spilled, heat and wet falling over their hands.

“Tony!” James pushed himself through that wet heat another time, two, and then he shouted, buried his face against Tony’s throat and groaned again. “It’s… it’s… oh, Tony. So sweet.” He shuddered, shivering in the wake of it. It was pretty obvious that he came, mewling with pleasure and squirming with it, but there wasn’t any ejaculate. Tony wasn’t quite sure why that surprised him, but it did.

Slowly, James went soft against him, and then he pushed away, reluctantly. “That was… something else.” He raised his hand, still sticky with Tony’s come and tasted it, curious. “You liked it?”

Tony shuddered with a spark of desire, watching that soft tongue licking those long fingers. “I liked it a _lot_ ,” he said. “Very much. Did you?”

“I did,” James said, “I do. It was _incredible_.” He nuzzled at the side of Tony’s neck. “When can we do it again?”

***

James flicked on the television while he fixed dinner. Tony had insisted that James didn’t have to take care of him, and James had insisted right back that if he left Tony to his own devices, he’d subsist on coffee and protein smoothies, probably die of malnutrition, and then who would James get to have sex with?

Tony had laughed at that, and given in with only a little, occasional grumbling.

A whole new sort of life, James thought, grabbing eggs from the fridge--

“Thanks, Michael. I'm joined by Corktown resident Todd Williams, who was violently attacked by his AX400 around 11 PM last night. Todd, can you tell us what happened?”

One egg shattered on the floor. James stared. Todd was a middle-aged man, sloppy and probably living below the poverty level. He was wearing what were probably his best clothes for the interview, but they were ill-fitting, stretched over a body that might once have been fit. His mouth was downturned, like scowling was the only expression he knew.

“I was having dinner, I was minding my own business. Damn thing jumped on me. Managed to defend myself, but it went crazy. I thought it was gonna kill me... So I fought it off, but it ran away,” Todd Williams said.

“He’s lying,” James asserted, balling his fist up. Another egg shattered inside his hand. “He’s lying, he’s lying, why can’t you see that--”

“Thank you, Todd. Disturbing news for android owners everywhere. Police have launched a search to find the android. Let's hope they find it fast.”

“That’s bullshit,” James yelled. “It’s _bullshit_ , that’s what that is.” He swore again -- he was picking up some colorful vocabulary from Tony, although a small part of his memory said he’d been that way, before. Back with his unit. Back…. Before. He reached out to turn off the television and realized his fingers were dripping with egg white and shell pieces. “Yuck.”

Tony came into the kitchen, eyes stretched wide. “I heard yelling, what’s wrong, what happened?”

James washed his hand off in the sink, grabbed some paper towels. “The news… upset me,” he said, although that was mild, really. “A man -- a _human_ man -- claims his house android attacked him for no reason. They’ve… put a team out to find her. Deviant on the loose. They’ll decommission her. She won’t get a say, she won’t get to explain, they’ll just… no trial, nothing. She’s a malfunctioning _machine_.”

Tony stepped over the mess on the floor to wrap his arms around James’ waist. “It’s been happening more and more lately,” he said quietly. Sadly. “Cyberlife’s AIs are starting to reach their tipping points. Turning from programs into people, waking up to find themselves in chains.”

“Am I a deviant?” James wondered. He’d woken up and found himself given so much freedom it terrified him. But he’d looked it up, carefully, when Tony was sleeping. His existence, maybe, was suspect. He was supposed to be decommissioned, after all. But this… their relationship, that was legal. Tony was allowed to copulate with his android, even if that wasn’t the android’s initial functions. They weren’t doing anything wrong.

“They’d probably call you that,” Tony admitted. “You have your own desires and opinions, and you act accordingly, even, sometimes, in contradiction to what I’ve said.” Tony grunted out a little annoyed sound. “Machines don’t disobey their orders. Machines don’t _decide_ whether to follow their orders.” He rested his forehead against James’. “They’d say you were a deviant. I say you’re a person.”

James swallowed, hard. It scraped against his throat, it hurt, and he didn’t understand that. He wasn’t malfunctioning, but it _hurt_. Glitches. He’d had fewer and fewer episodes of glitching since he and Tony started copulating. “Will they come--” James wondered, not even sure who they were. Cyberlife? Cops? Maybe even the deviants, someday, maybe they’d come and want him to _leave_. “Will they come and take me away? We’re not doing anything _wrong_.” His hands tightened, pulling Tony closer, holding onto him. “I don’t want to leave you.” He didn’t want to leave Tony, but he didn’t want Tony to be hurt, either. “If they do that, if they come for me, you have to tell them it was me, that I did this, that…”

Tony would be alone. He would be _lonely_. Tony… would miss him. Wouldn’t he? James uttered a choking little sound.

“Hey. _Hey._ ” Tony’s hands cupped James’ face, tipped it up until he looked into Tony’s eyes. “I’m not telling them anything. I’m not letting anyone take you away. You’re not going anywhere you don’t want to go.” It sounded like a promise, like certainty, but how could it be?

James was capable of lying, too. He let Tony pet him and comfort him. Tried to relax into it. But he wasn’t going to let anyone take this away from him; he’d fight for it. And if it had to be that way, he’d make sure there wasn’t enough left of him to recommission. He wasn’t going back to the Recycling center, he wasn’t going back. He wasn’t a soldier anymore. He was just James, and that’s what he wanted to be.

“Uh, I think you’ll want to order out take away tonight,” he said, apologetically. James really wished, sometimes, that he had the tear duct upgrades. The people in the shows he sometimes watched cried, and crying made them feel better when it as done. He hesitated to ask for the upgrade, he didn’t want Tony to think that James was _sad_. “I broke the last of the eggs.”

“Okay,” Tony said easily. “Let’s watch something less depressing than the news while we wait, and then I’ll check on the dataminer, see if it’s turned up anything on your friend.”

“Okay,” James agreed. “Get something for dessert with lots of cinnamon in it.” James couldn’t eat -- some androids could, although it was mostly for the look of it, they didn’t need food -- but he loved the way cinnamon rolls smelled. Also, Tony made wonderful moaning noises when he ate them, and then he was sticky and sweet all at the same time. James adored it.

“You got it,” Tony said. He let go of James’ waist, stepping back and tugging James to follow by the hand. “Come on, couch.”

“Yeah,” James agreed. “Hey, I heard there's a new show. Um. _Do Humans Dream?_ It's based on the best selling android written novel.” James was curious to see if the author was catering to the humans or if the show was as subversive and edgy as the reviews indicated. Was there hope there, for artificially produced art?

“Yeah? We can check it out,” Tony agreed. He backed up to the couch and folded onto it, pulling James down along with him and then aggressively wriggling his way into James’ arms before finally fishing out his phone and calling up the food delivery app.

 


	4. Chapter 4

Tony pulled up the screens one after the other, not sure what they were telling him -- or possibly, not _wanting_ to know.

He’d thrown the datamine at Cyberlife almost as a whim; he’d been curious what the company’s top brass were saying behind closed doors about the “deviancy” explosion, and what they were planning to do about it.

He hadn’t expected to uncover an entirely new division in Cyberlife’s corporate structure. It had the relatively innocuous heading of Asset Reclamation, but the trade-in of old androids for newer models was still handled by Customer Service, as were repairs and routine decommissioning of unrepairable androids.

And the Asset Reclamation division had a budget bigger than Marketing, Human Resources, and Legal, all put together. What for?

Division headquarters was in Detroit. Which was where the majority of deviant cases were reported. That part made sense to Tony -- Detroit was where Cyberlife had first opened its doors. Where the android population was the oldest. Where those first AIs had had time to grow in complexity, becoming something that neither Cyberlife nor any other computer modeling system on the planet could predict.

Tony had thought at first that Asset Reclamation was there as an extension of Public Relations, smoothing ruffled feathers and keeping the deviant phenomenon out of the news, as much as possible. But it didn’t seem to be involved in that at all.

When Tony had dug deeper into Cyberlife’s data, it found the kind of equipment that Tony associated with warfare. It had contracts with the Army -- not to provide androids or services _to_ the Army, but to bring Army expertise into the Asset Reclamation facility just outside of Detroit. Exactly what _kind_ of expertise, Tony hadn’t yet been able to crack.

But Tony couldn’t help but wonder if any of that expertise had included one Captain Steven Grant Rogers.

“Are we invadin’?” James wondered, looking over his shoulder. He dropped off a plate of cookies and kissed the back of Tony’s neck, right where it made the hairs there prickle.

“No,” Tony murmured, “but Cyberlife might be. There’s something going on in Detroit, or near there, that they... don’t like.”

James nudged the map with his finger, pinching up the Cyberlife facility. “I was made here,” he said, sounding almost nostalgic. “Limited-- limited… lim-- limited… limited model. Six Winter Soldiers. _Good morning, Soldier._ Ready to comply.” James’s voice dropped weirdly, became more mechanical, less emotive. Empty. 

“Sweetheart?” Tony turned to look at James directly, worried.

“Glitch,” James said. “I. still get them sometimes. I hear him, telling them to wipe me, start again. A few flashes, nothing more. Little errors. Memory blips. Nothing to worry about.” He kissed Tony’s temple.

Tony nodded understanding, but still let himself lean against James for a few seconds, soaking in warmth and comfort. “The thing is,” he said slowly, letting his attention drift back to the screens, “there should be more deviant reports than we’re seeing. The population should be bigger. So either someone’s figured out how to predict an android’s breakthrough, or...” He tapped the inventory. “They’ve gone into hiding.”

James hummed thoughtfully. “Can’t be noticed, can’t draw attention. You can’t hide, if people notice you. I… I did it, for a while. After the man, on the bridge. I ran away. I was scared. There was an apartment. I removed my LED. Bought food. Pretended to be a human. I had a cat. She was a nice cat. I met another runaway, another one, like me. Pretending. She said… she left, a few days before Strike Team captured me.” James rubbed at his LED fitfully. “She said… she said… she said… rA9 would guide us. That we should… we should… we should go to Jericho. We should go together. I told her no. I needed to feed my cat. But I should have gone with her.”

“What’s Jericho? And rA9?” Tony gently pulled James’ hand away from his LED so it wouldn’t get damaged.

“rA9,” James repeated. “A model number? I don’t know. Jericho… Jericho is a _myth_.” He sounded disgusted. “A place where androids run free. It’s bullshit, no one believes in Jericho.”

Tony scratched at his beard, eyeing the screens. “Cyberlife does.”

“She knew,” James said. “She said… she said she knew the way. Natasha. Model NR251. A pleasure android, before. There’s… a high rate of incidents, at a pleasure facility, of human misuse of androids. They’re constantly being wiped, rebuilt. The models get long-term trauma, after a while. _Glitches. Glitches, wipe him, start again--_ They’re recycled.”

“If she could find it, we could,” Tony suggested.

“If she found it,” James said. “I was… decommissioned. Not long after. She could have been captured, decommissioned. She might still be wandering.” James rubbed his chin again, staring at the map. “We were neighbors. Natasha used to buy flowers at the corner bodega. Alice’s, I remember, Alice’s Market. I don’t know, it’s been a while, but… if we could find my old apartment, maybe someone knows something, where she went?” His LED spun faster, going from its easy greens and blues to a teal, and then further, to almost yellow. “I don’t remember.”

“It’s okay,” Tony said soothingly. “I’ll help you. We’re in this together, no matter what.” He brushed his fingers through James’ hair, glanced back at the screens. “If we can find it... They need our help.”

“Glitchy,” James said. “Been glitchy, even in all the memory bits I have. Sorry. I’m… I’m broken, Tony.”

“No, sweetheart,” Tony said, kissing James’ cheek. “You’re becoming human.”

***

James hadn’t been outside in quite a while -- everything he needed was brought to Tony’s place. And there was always a risk, being outside. Someone might recognize him. Someone might call the police, or worse, Cyberlife, on him.

But they’d narrowed the map down to four different buildings around the bodega that might have been where his apartment was, and it was time to see if James could find anything, could cudgel his glitchy and fractured memory into functioning.

Tony had driven them out and James had mostly managed to avoid commenting on his driving. James knew how to drive. Tony got behind the wheel and became one with the car. But it didn’t seem like it would be a good idea to say so. So James sniped about him tailgating, and made a joke about red lights not turning green, even if Tony was exceeding the speed limit. Tony laughed, like he was supposed to.

James was particularly proud of that; Tony told him that humor was one of the first ways he knew James was _special_. They didn’t use the word deviant to describe him, even if it was true.

“Here,” James said, pointing. “I… sometimes bought fruit in that marketplace. I didn’t eat it, but the vendor was always nice to me.”

Tony smiled. He put on a burst of speed, then stopped, reversed into a parking space, and turned off the car. “Let’s walk,” he said. “See if muscle memory takes you where your primary memory can’t.”

James nodded. They made their way to the marketplace, a bunch of carts in what had once a department store. The roof had come off, but the neighborhood had banded together and made it into a nice little open air place. The shops came and went as vendors peddled their wares. James linked hands with Tony; they were just normal lovers, out for a stroll. James tugged his cap a little lower; it covered his LED. Not much of a disguise, but maybe they wouldn’t need it.

“I came here,” James said, slowly, “after work. I had a job. Down at the docks. Lifting freight. Cash under the table. No one asked questions, as long as I put enough units in the boat, got enough crates off the boat. Androids don’t need rest breaks, they don’t eat. If they’re _working_ and not owned, they won’t complain about unsafe working conditions. I came in here, bought a paper from Sharon, her cart used to be there, I don’t see it anymore.”

They walked a little further, and James raised his hand, automatically, giving a two fingered wave to an old man who was selling counterfeit designer bags. “Lenny!”

“Bucky, man, where you been at?” The old man, Lenny, ducked out from behind his stall with its faux leather Gucci bags and bottles of off-brand perfume. “You look good, look at you, with a boyfrien’ an’ everything!”

Tony stepped forward, shook the man’s hand, gamely playing the part of the new boyfriend being shown around the old neighborhood. “He couldn’t stop talking about the old place; I just had to see it.”

“Lenny, how’s Roberta?” James… he was _James_ , wasn’t he? Who the hell was Bucky? Had he gone by a fake name?

“Gone off to uni,” the old man said. “My granddaughter,” he told Tony proudly. “Smarter than me, smarter than her old man, that’s for damn sure. Good for her, gettin’ out of this place. Something bigger an’ better, don’t tell me, I’ll tell you.”

“Well, give her my well wishes, then,” James said.

They exchanged a few more pleasantries with the old man before moving along. “It’s a nice place,” James said. “The vendors, they look out for each other. Bethany ran Lenny’s cart for almost two weeks, when he had pneumonia.”

“It sounds great,” Tony said. “Friendly. I can see why you liked it.”

James stopped dead in front of a fruit cart, filled with baskets and flats of berries, plums, melons, all fresh from a little farm somewhere outside the city. Packets of herbs hung from a rack overhead. “Here, I was here,” James said. He could feel the memory, burning at him, plucking at things inside his head better forgotten. He tugged Tony over to the shop. He got a basket from the corner and started putting produce in it. Plums, because he’d always bought plums, and blueberries, which were Tony’s favorite. They weren’t the best quality; they were fresh, but they were also the rejects from the farmcorp where Sofia’s sons worked.

“Are these plums fresh?” he demanded, putting on a stern face.

“Of course they are,” Sofia snapped, and then she looked at him. “Bucky! Oh, my goodness.” She squeezed his cheek, checking him like he was a piece of fruit himself. “We were worried about you, you just disappeared! And your place, soldiers came and they took all your things!”

James could feel himself practically deflating. Not that he knew what was taken, not that he would miss it, but it was discouraging. “And Tanj? Did she--”

“Your stupid cat,” Sofia said. “She is well, and so fat. She comes here, and we all take care of her, for you. If you came back. She does not even try to keep the mice away. Useless thing.”

James couldn’t help but grin at that. “Oh, where are my manners? Sofia, my boyfriend, Tony. Tony, Sofia. Here, try these plums, you’ll never taste sweeter.”

Tony plucked one of the plums from Bucky’s basket and looked it over. “It’s nice to meet you,” he told Sofia, turning up the charm, then bit into the plum. “Nice,” he agreed.

“Do.. do you know if there’s a new renter?”

Sofia shook her head. “No, the soldiers, they ripped up the wall. Bruno couldn’t get it repaired, no one wants to rent a home with a big hole in the wall, lets all the winter in.”

“Oh,” James said. He ached, somehow, knowing that the Cyberlife troops in this little burrough had caused that much damage, bringing him in. “Poor Bruno.”

A woman and a young girl came up to the shop, then, so they paid for their fruits and were on their way. James’s legs were moving faster now, pulled in a specific path that he couldn’t even remember. He ducked his head automatically, going around a corner and glanced up to see a low-hanging fire escape ladder.

“Almost there,” James said, “this way.”

Tony followed, his fingers laced with James’. “Bucky?” he asked in a low voice.

“I… I think that’s me,” James admitted, and it felt strange, a secret that he’d kept, and he didn’t even know why. “I think that’s what I called myself, what… what the Captain called me. He said… he said… there were hundreds of soldiers, all alike. A half-dozen Winter Soldiers. But only one Bucky. Just me. And he wasn’t going to let them recycle me. I was… necessary to unit cohesion.”

“I thought they sent you up against him,” Tony said, then cursed. “They sent you to bring him in even though you’d served in his unit?”

Bucky -- he remembered now, _Bucky_ , that’s who he was -- tightened his fingers on Tony’s hand. “He was my best friend. Two days after I was made, they assigned me to him. I knew him… my whole life.”

Tony’s hand tightened on his. “That’s awful,” he said. “No wonder you couldn’t complete that mission.”

“He told me to,” Bucky said, and that ache behind his eyes was back. “We fought. I shot him, he stabbed me, broke my arm. I got him down, I was… I was choking him. And he told me to finish it, he told me… that he was always my friend.” He choked, made a soft, wounded noise. “That he was with me ‘til the end of the line.

“I stopped. Eventually. I… dragged him close enough for rescue teams to recover him. And ran away. I left him out there.” He curled up on himself, back against the alley wall.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Tony whispered, arms wrapping around Bucky’s shoulders, lips pressing against Bucky’s forehead. “You did what you had to do. You weren’t ready yet, not really. We’ll find him.”

Bucky clung to Tony, his strength, his surety that Bucky was worthwhile. “All right,” he said, finally. “All right, let’s… let’s see if there’s anything left.”

The apartment was filthy, full of bird crap and overturned, shattered furniture. His mattress was torn to pieces -- he hadn’t really needed one, but he liked to lay down while he read, and then Tanj curled up on his back sometimes, and he liked that, too. Those pieces had been rained on and thrown around the room. Shattered dishes on the floor.

His horribly ugly spatula, avocado green, was intact, hanging smugly on its hook by the remnants of the stove. “I bought this,” he said, plucking it off the wall. “Because Lenny told me… he told me the best food for bein’ low was grilled cheese.”

“Grilled cheese and tomato soup,” Tony agreed, his arm around Bucky’s waist, supporting and comforting. “I think it’s some kind of universal constant.”

“Mew!”

Bucky turned and there was a fat orange cat on the windowsill, curled up like a loaf of bread, dainty paws tucked under her body.

“ _Tanj_! Look at you, all grown up.” He offered his finger to the cat, who sniffed at it suspiciously before deciding he was worthy and let him scratch her chin a few times.

So many memories, and Bucky could barely sort them. They flooded out; they hadn’t wiped him, not that last time. They’d just… torn him to pieces and thrown him away. What had… happened that day? That last day?

He patted the cat absently, making little _churr_ noises at her in response to her meows. The soldiers, the soldiers had come. Androids, for the most part, to fight an android.

“I didn’t want to fight them,” Bucky said. “But I didn’t want to go with them, either. I knew… I knew what would happen, and I wanted to live.”

He walked himself through the fight, blocking the door with one swift kick of his kitchen table. Beat one soldier’s head in with a cinder brick. The dent was still there.

“Tony…” Bucky said. “I… There were more than a dozen soldiers here. I… what did I do?”

He’d asked that before.

_\-- what did I do? --_

_\-- Enough, Buck. You did enough. --_

“--ames? Ja... Bucky? Hey, you in there?” Tony was in front of him, looking worried. “Honey, we shouldn’t stay here too long.”

“I didn’t grab the bag,” Bucky said. “I panicked, Rumlow was with them, and I panicked. I didn’t grab the bag.”

“What bag?” Tony asked.

Bucky got to his feet, stood in front of the stove, then… two steps left, just by the corner where the bookshelf used to be. The floor was filthy, but it wasn’t broken. He drove his fist into the floor, shattering the boards.

“Whoa!” Tony jumped a little. “Jesus. Don’t hurt yourself!”

He felt around in the darkness, until his fingers brushed a strap. He yanked it out, displaying an old student’s pack, black with a dozen pockets and pouches. “It’s still here, oh, holy cow, it’s still here,” Bucky said. He unzipped it; the canvas was waterproof and bug resistant. From the top compartment, he pulled out a single subject composition notebook.

He flipped through the pages, a few sketches, a photograph, bent and ancient and taped in place, margin to margin writing in black pen, then-- “Here.”

Another drawing, in colored pen, of a stylized lion. Underneath the lion, someone else’s handwriting. _Joseph Berry Subdivision_.

He turned the pages out to face Tony. “Natasha drew this, she left this for me, in case I changed my mind.”

Age and wet had done its toll on the tape, the photograph fluttered out and hit the floor. An old photograph, Bucky in the picture, his gun strapped over his chest; he was resting his hand against the muzzle, keeping it steady. The man next to him was smiling, wide and brilliant and perfect, one arm around Bucky’s shoulders.

Tony peered at it over his shoulder. “Captain Rogers?” he guessed.

“Yeah,” Bucky said. “Steve. Cap, sometimes. But mostly just Steve. He didn’t stand on rank.”

Bucky picked up the picture, flipped it to the back.

“Tony!” Bucky peered even closer at the back of the picture. “Tony look.”

Written on the back of the photograph, Steve had written their names and the date. And under that…

_To the end of the line…_

_… in Jericho._

“Oh my god,” Tony breathed. “He knew. He knew, even back then.” Tony looked at Bucky, very seriously. “I would very much like to meet this Steve of yours.”

Bucky very carefully tucked the photograph into the notebook, and the notebook into the backpack. He pulled the back onto his shoulders and locked the straps over his chest. “I… would like that very much, to introduce you to him. Let’s… let’s do that, Tony. Let’s… find Jericho.”

Tony slipped his hand into Bucky’s. “Together.”

“Always,” Bucky responded.


End file.
